Some nanobot virus from Plaguemaker finally managed to get through The Brain's biofilters and infect the lot of us. Only The Contrarian has managed to avoid it. (He used his power: "I think he might be sick." "I AM NOT!!") So while we sit around trying not to die, The Brain is working feverishly (ha ha pun totally intended) to find a cure.
I now understand why I was able to do a minimum of writing yesterday--wrapping up one article and then crawling into bed for a four hour nap. I may also owe Uberdude an apology for saying something along the lines of how his face looked like The Beaver ate it. (Or something. I don't really remember it too well.)
At some point during my convalescence, I need to write my latest article for one of the other blogs I'm writing for. They sent an enforcer by the house who peed on my carpet and knocked over a vase and said "We want you to write for us. Why you gotta go and break our hearts by not writing for us?"
I also have been hoping to get the latest section of A Demon's Rubicon up for two weeks now.
And if this reggae band would stop doing their percussion demo right behind my eyes, I could totally get started on all of that.
Also, totally vote in our poll. I can't seem to break this Pratchett/LeGuin tie, but one way or another, the results will be posted tomorrow.
AND...we're getting lots of nominations for best movie adaptation of a book, but almost no seconds. Most titles will not go on to the poll if no one seconds them.